After Remnant's End:  David in Siebenbur
by QueenSforza666
Summary: Basically this is a small piece that pulls from the fan comic I have been slaving over for a week.  This is an exerpt in some sense to see if anyone feels that this would be an adequate story to write and draw.
1. Chapter 1  David in Siebenbur

Blood roared in David's veins as he mutilated the Nussknacker's hard exoskeleton, failing to avoid the pointed tail descending over his head in a pitiful attempt to kill him. Successfully, it was deflected by a large shield, whose owner looked to be over six feet and similar to a walking fish, Blocter. Silence befell the exhausted union while they prepared the raw flesh of their kill for supper.

Siebenbur is famously known for its terrifyingly vicious monsters and only the ones who searched for a challenge would venture here so freely. Faint lights illuminated the cavernesque halls, which twisted and turned for miles before reaching a dead end at the centre of the abandoned ruins. Adventurers who had traversed throughout the whole expanse of this stony labyrinth centuries before declared the heart of it the Final Fortress.

Its walls told ancient stories past in intricate, almost delicate, designs who in turn were unfairly marred by Time's rancorous claws.

David had resigned his troops to setting up camp within the confines of the Final Fortress, leaving orders to keep a heavy nightwatch in case of enemies. To their dismay, he chose to wander through the corridors, admiring the advanced artistry of the walls and stopping to examine anything particularly interesting. It was then that a brief but distinctly red glint came into view down a hall, drawing the Marquis' attention away from the hopelessly scattered history. 


	2. Chapter 2 The Curse in Siebenbur

David discovered that the origin of the red glint came from a dazzling ruby amulet, shamelessly dangling from a skeleton's curled hands. His fingers ghosted tenderly over the skeleton's face, vaguely curious as to who it had been before its supposed death. It was then that he realized the crystal adorning the amulet had reeled him in when usually, he never felt so enamoured by trinkets; yet here he stood, carressing the jewelry as if it were a delicate flower. Torgal, one of his most loyal Generals, watched him with fixed eyes, his features level and completely unmoved by the sight he found before him. There was no attempt to rouse his Lord from the seemingly entranced gazing at the ruby amulet, as he himself held a silent query as to what that blood-tinted jewel could have done to the young man he watched since birth. Suddenly, David turned, continuing his fascinated parousing of the Final Fortress' many halls. Not one word left his lips as he passed Torgal, who now felt it appropriate to accompany his Lord through the dimmed halls. As he roamed with the young Marquis, Torgal recalled a similar jewel catching his attention many years before. Being a Sovani of two hundred years, he knew every passage of Siebenbur, especially after the many quests he pursued through it alone. Even now, he felt unwelcome here, as its walls held old curses that hated all who set foot upon the dusty, cracked floors, tainted by the blood of centuries past.

It was not more than several weeks into their stay in Siebenbur and after David's discovery of the ruby amulet, that the Generals started to notice a strange change in their Lord's behavior. More often than not they would wake in the later hours of the night to see him wandering into the Paths with an unknown motive driving him into danger's breast. 


	3. Chapter 3 The Witch of Siebenbur

Their encounter with the filthy woman left many questions hovering over the union's heads. She had slipped through the watch as a shadow, creeping and crawling along the tents and makeshift beds. No one really noticed her presence until she tried her hand at entering Lord David's tent, to which a violent result occured.

Several men were rendered useless due to disembodiment or being completely covered head to toe in ghastly hives that throbbed dimly before bursting forth blood and flesh eating maggots. It was indeed a gruesome sight to behold, but none the less a fantastic display of the woman's raw power over magic. David had Pagus to thank for subduing the crude, animalistic woman.

Before long they managed to restore harmony within the camp, superbly aware of their captive. She woke in a bout of slurred curses and heavy grunts, curtly insulting David upon his entry of the tent they held her in. Her arms were bound at her front to cover her indecently exposed breasts and prevent any further provocation of ill remarks or unneeded embarrassment of the troops. The Marqui regarded the rugged appearance the woman displayed; her hair pulled back in an unruly, muddy disaster, skin slicked with layers of dirt, blood and other substances, and her eyes a smoldering yet knowledgeable grey. Her posture left much to be desired as her shoulders slumped heavily, allowing a wolf-like hunch in her spine. Even her head was held outward by her long neck, only amplifying her predatorial stature. The woman's face was strikingly gorgeous, despite the filth that sullied her cheeks and the dry, cracked and bloody lips set in a hiss. All in all she was an animal to her own right, however, David felt that it gave her an alluring exotic beauty.

From what he could recall from the books he cleaved in his library back in Athlum, this was definitely the Witch of Siebenbur in all her ancient, unrefined glory. 


	4. Chapter 4 Survival and Terror

David felt trapped in an eternal duel with his thoughts, their claws sharp and biting against the confines of his skull. They screamed and ached for bloodshed, like a tyrant drunk off the benefits of power. On most occasions, he could fend off their temptations, however, when his strength of mind dwindled, he would succumb, venturing through Siebenbur's paths without anyone to accompany him. More often than not, those losses against the foreign, animalistic side left him invigorated and utterly alive, but he easily identified the heavy guilt come the next morn. He would wake to the gruesome appearance of a gored man with blood thickly caked onto his torn garments, matting his hair and tinting his skin a dark maroon. His Generals would frequently question him with worried stares, sometimes grimaces that only amplified the awareness of how utterly covered in the horrors of his nightly adventures he was.

This night, David held high hopes of batting the monster in his head away, as he felt more himself than the past few weeks. Like usual, that mental intruder disagreed with his resolution, and it was dead set on making him rue the foolish thought of winning over its intentions. The first boost of useless confidence was Noire, a foreign General whose homeland considered him a prized assassin yet for some unknown reason, decided to remain in Athlum with the Marquis. He helped suppress the supposed beast dwelling within his troubled Lord by sparring with him, parrying and easily forfeiting victories. Unfortunately, what was only meant to be a stress relieving session turned into a struggle for survival. As they progressed through their matches, David started to feel more aggressive, his sword gliding swiftly with his ever climbing need to maim.  
>It was not until he nearly lost his head from a dangerously accurate uppercut that Noire discovered David had become more determined to cause him harm. Instinctually, he dove head first into a defensive stance, barely keeping himself upright from the unyielding attacks. His attempts to inform the young Marquis of the disconcerting change were not heard, as the man before him, a usually benevolent, loyal and clever Lord, had transformed into a blood monger, eyes crazed with thickening lust for his opponent's blood. Still, he kept guard on his vital points, avoiding lethal strikes and ducking fast enough to allow for more evasions.<br>Because of a slight slip in defense, David disarmed Noire and tossed him carelessly to the ground, shuddering with mindless delight from the startled yelp of discomfort slipping from his comrade's throat. Seconds passed as the Marquis watched him ease himself back into a defensive stance, before advancing in a predatory fashion. His arm arched in a slashing motion, creating a thin slice along Noire's upper left arm. Blood oozed from the clean cut, and the sight thrilled David. He enjoyed how it inched its way down the pale flesh and dyed a small portion of the leather armguards. Desperate to taste that coppery flavor he lunged forward, pinning the strangely calm assassin against a pillar and out of view from any eyes observing them previously. The voice of reason cried out helplessly in his mind, but it held no meaning at the current moment.

David eyed the cut on Noire's arm and clamped his mouth over it to catch flowing blood. His mental intruder coerced him to sink his teeth into the smoothe flesh for a better feel. Noire grunted softly at this action but felt it would be unwise to move. He believed that his Lord was experiencing a common misplacement of the mind due to the two month stay in the Final Fortress of Siebenbur. To him, it was only a minor case and could easily be handled by just remaining calm and taking whatever came from the victim of it. Although, he had to admit that he found it largely puzzling to watch David cope with the mental conflictions of instinctual desire and Mitran reasoning. With this thought aside, he slipped his right hand across the tensed shoulders and massaged the muscles of the Marquis' neck, barely hearing the satisfied sigh that slipped out as the other released his arm. Upon the realization of what he had done David tore away, guilty and disoriented from the delightful taste of flesh and blood on his lips. Eyes wide and mortified, he apologized, before fleeing to his tent. Noire gazed dazedly at the Marquis' retreating form. Oddly enough, it was pleasing to know that his new Lord cared about the well being of his troops. This incident served as a reminder of how trusted he was despite his background. Silently, he ghosted his fingers over the gash, whispering mystic incantations to restore the flesh. He stopped his healing short at the strange noises that instantly caught his attention from where he stood, his deep red eyes flickering curiously at the shadows along the Second Siebenbur Path. Cautiously, Noire advanced along the cavern, gathering his weapons along the way to ensure that he could easily be as much of a threat should the sounds belong to anything dangerous. Adrenaline began its slow assault on his body as he continued his search for the source of the Remnant-like noise, halting at the distinct rumble that travelled through his legs and up his spine. Before he could acknowledge the disturbing feeling, the Four Generals and David were beside him, obviously in a similarly curious but cautious attitude. Their weapons were at their sides, drawn but at ease, allowing for a quick defense. Still a bit guilted by his previous actions, David attempted to apologize again, only to receive two slender fingers pressed lightly against his lips in a silencing manner from Noire. Quietly, the assassin pointed toward the horrifyingly skeletal being gazing at them from a distance, its faded and dull eyes reflecting the torches built into the Path's walls like a night borne creature. Torgal was the first to call out to it, demanding that it state its business, although failing to pull an answer from it. As they observed it, the six noticed the disturbingly familiar Mitran resemblance it held, exchanging horrified glances before nearly jumping out of their skins when the unidentified creature lurched forward sporadically before spasming back into its original posture. Something all too known seeped into the forefront of Noire's memory and it made his head throb alarmingly. Dread ebbed its way into his mind, as he began to realize exactly what it was they were witnessing before them. 


End file.
